Sealing

It was about the length of a person, composed of pitch-black vertebrae with black mucus flowing between the segments.

It pulsed in sync with the tremors of the rift; with every pulse, those runes glowed brighter, and the rift above the square expanded slightly.

Old Morgan stood at the entrance, his clouded eyes fixed intently on that spine.

"He actually set up an anchor?" Old Morgan’s voice held a trace of astonishment, which quickly turned into anger.

"The viscount must have had his brains eaten by dogs! To dare let such a thing in... are we sure he hasn't betrayed the Empire?"

Old Morgan entered the vault, carefully maneuvering around the magic circle on the floor.

This thing was resonating with an entity on the other side, forcibly tearing open a passage.

That dark shadow... it must be the projection of that entity.

Can it be destroyed?

Old Morgan frowned, crouching down to analyze the structure of the magic circle with his mechanics.

Lines, nodes, energy flow...

Old Morgan’s brow furrowed deeper and deeper.

This magic circle had already fused with the sacrifice above; with his abilities, it was impossible to dismantle.

At least, he couldn't do anything about it in the short term.

After confirming he couldn't dismantle it, Old Morgan decisively pulled an alchemical grenade from his coat and said coldly, "Since I can’t dismantle it, I’ll just blow it up."

Just as Old Morgan was about to light the fuse, a golden holy light spread from the passage behind him, dispelling the darkness in the vault.

Old Morgan turned his head.

It was Alice and the archbishop.

The archbishop’s purple robes were covered in dust and blood, his face terrifyingly pale, but those eyes remained sharp.

Though the holy light surrounding him was much dimmer than before, it still radiated a sacred aura.

"Don’t blow it!" the archbishop’s raspy voice echoed through the vault. "Forcing its destruction might trigger a backlash; a seal is the safest way. Sivating has arrived with the Holy Armored Army. With the two military arrays working together, the situation above has stabilized for now."

His gaze fell upon the pulsing spine in the center of the magic circle, and his pupils suddenly constricted.

"How could such a thing be here! Has the viscount committed treason?"

The archbishop’s voice contained uncontrollable shock; as a fourth-rank cleric, he knew exactly what the object before him represented.

To be able to open a projection based on its own material alone, it was highly likely to be a part of some indescribable entity.

The Empire had issued repeated orders strictly forbidding anyone from provoking those beings.

"You actually didn't know? Then why were you willing to leave your church to rush over here?" Old Morgan looked at the archbishop with a hint of confusion.

The archbishop fell silent for a moment, his expression turning increasingly grim.

"My people discovered that the viscount received an imperial secret letter a while ago," the archbishop said coldly. "After that, he began transporting some... strange things into the inner city on a large scale. I have been tracking the whereabouts of those goods."

He looked at the spine, a trace of coldness flashing in his eyes.

"I didn't expect that among the things brought in, there would be this... thing."

Old Morgan and the archbishop exchanged a glance.

Both saw the same doubt and vigilance in each other's eyes.

"Whatever he’s planning," the archbishop took a deep breath and stepped to the edge of the magic circle, "we must solve the immediate problem first."

"Can you seal it?"

"It should be possible. It seems an isolating seal was set up here in advance, so the pollution hasn't completely spread yet."

The archbishop’s voice was calm and certain, without the slightest hesitation.

He pressed his palms together and began to chant high-level prayers.

This prayer was even more complex and ancient than the one in the square.

Each syllable seemed to be squeezed from the depths of his soul, carrying a certain sacred and solemn power.

Golden holy light surged from him, denser and purer than before.

The Angel phantom above the archbishop’s head condensed once more, its six wings unfurled. The eyes formed from holy light slowly opened, looking down at the anchor in the center of the magic circle.

Wherever the Angel’s gaze reached, the darkness had nowhere to hide.

The holy light surged toward the spine like a tide, completely enveloping it.

The black object emitted a piercing hiss, as if something were screaming in agony.

The runes flashed wildly, attempting to resist the encroachment of the holy light, but under the gaze of the Angel phantom, all struggle appeared futile.

The frequency of the pulsing began to slow.

One by one, the runes on the magic circle went out, like candle flames being extinguished one by one by an invisible hand.

Through his mechanics sensing, Old Morgan could feel the vibrations in the ground weakening; the connection between the rift and the anchor was being severed.

Beads of sweat the size of beans broke out on the archbishop’s forehead and rolled down his cheeks, but his chanting did not pause for a second, his voice remaining steady and powerful.

Finally, as the holy light flooded the entire vault...

The spine stopped pulsing.

The surrounding runes all went out.

The glow on the magic circle faded away completely, leaving only the pitch-black spine lying quietly on the ground.

The Angel phantom slowly dissipated, and the archbishop’s chanting came to an abrupt halt.

His body swayed, nearly falling, but Alice supported him just in time.

"It’s done," the archbishop’s voice was weak, carrying a hint of relief. "Fortunately, the time was short, or even I wouldn't have been able to do anything about it."

Old Morgan nodded and turned to Alice.

"Stay here and look after the archbishop. I'll head up to check on the situation first."

Alice nodded, helping the archbishop lean against the wall to rest.

Watching Old Morgan’s departing back, the archbishop couldn't help but shake his head. He pulled a small bottle of pale gold liquid from his robes, squeezed a drop into some holy water, and swallowed it. His complexion recovered visibly to the naked eye.

Old Morgan, meanwhile, hurried out of the vault.

The sight in the square made him breathe a sigh of relief.

The rift was currently shrinking.

The massive dark shadow looming above was also dissipating, as if being pulled by some force, shrinking back into the depths of the rift bit by bit.

The countless rolling eyes let out silent roars, but they could not stop their fate of being swallowed.

The tentacles struggled madly, as if unwilling to retreat just yet, but the barrier formed by the holy light grew stronger and stronger, forcing them back into the rift inch by inch.

Valentine was still on the battlefield, but the pressure had clearly lessened.

The viscount was also still fighting, but his movements were becoming slower and slower, and his flames were growing dimmer.

A few minutes later.

The rift was completely closed.

The dark shadow vanished entirely, and the gloomy clouds reappeared in the sky.

Valentine retracted his fangs, the keratin layer on his body slowly fading as he returned to his human form. Feeling the stickiness on his body, he couldn't help but frown.

Old Morgan looked at the ground in the center of the square, which was pitted and corroded, and remained silent for a moment.

It was over for now.

His gaze swept over the collapsed buildings and the corpses scattered everywhere.

Nearly half of the inner city’s core area had been destroyed.

The shops, residences, and warehouses around the City Hall square... all had been reduced to ruins.

The ground that had been contaminated by the rift likely wouldn't recover for a long time.

Old Morgan sighed.

This battle would set the development of Gelimu Port back at least two or three years.

Rebuilding required money, appeasing the citizens required money, and repairing the contaminated land required even more money.

And this port city wasn't wealthy to begin with, while the viscount’s tax policies had been constantly overdrawing the people's strength...

Difficult.

It was truly damn difficult.

That cursed viscount... he should have been locked up much sooner!